The Midnight Sons
by Livin In Sin
Summary: Ghost Rider, Spawn, Constantine and The Punisher. This fic is a reimagining of the short lived Marvel team of the same name, it takes place in a hybrid universe where the biggest and baddest demons are threatening to burst through the gates of Hell.
1. Part One

Disclaimer  
I do not lay claim to any of the characters portrayed in this fanfic which are not of my own design, Ghost Rider, Spawn, John Constantine and The Punisher and all related characters are the exclusive property of their registered owners, any original character however is my sole property and should not be reproduced without permission.

* * *

_Okay then, here we are again readers, this, as you may well have guessed is my vision of the Marvel team The Midnight Sons, this fic is set in a hybrid universe where the characters from Marvel, DC and Image all exist within the same universe, if you've ever read an Amalgam comic its kinda like that with no character blending_

_I'm probably going to get slated for this, but on the other hand someones probably going to comment on how awesome it is to have Ghost Rider and Spawn in the same room (But that'll have to wait for a chapter or two, sorry sports fans :P) possibly going at each other's throats with chains. Anyway I envisioned this plot after watching the GR movie and teh Spawn series far too much, yes there is a plot, but you have to wait to Chap 2 for a taste of it._

_I've rated this R for the inherent and brutal violence lent to this fic by having four of the biggest badasses in the world as lead characters.  
_

  
The Midnight Sons

Part One : Act One

The Rider

The Texan highway was quiet, in the darkness only the sound of a single engine could be heard, a single gleaming silver sports car zipped down the highways. "I didn't mean to." A voice muttered inside, a young man sat in the driver's seat, he wore an expensive suit and many signet rings on both hands, a diamond encrusted watch flashed in the dim light winking back at him from the headlights every time he shifted his grip on the wheel. "It was an accident." Next to him sat a young woman, black, scantily clad, wearing an assortment of jewellery and with a stab wound just above her left kidney. "I didn't... I didn't..."

The young woman's head lolled weakly this way and that, she groaned in pain, her eyes roved aimlessly. She spoke weakly, in little more than a whisper as life ebbed away from her, "Jimmy... Hospital..." Death was snapping at her heels, tailing just behind the silver sports car.

"N-- no." The young man, 'Jimmy' responded, "Can't-- no one can find out." His eyes zipped constantly from the woman and back to the road, "Oh God, there's blood everywhere. Oh shit!" Ahead he spotted a single headlight, "Oh God, oh God!" He drove onward, it seemed as if the bike had been abandoned. Just left out there, then a figure strode into the road, clad all in biker leathers, his face pale and his features sunken, he simply stared as the car swept forward, his hand outstretched, pointing a finger right at Jimmy. The young man put his foot down, ramming into the other man and sending him sprawling over the top of the car, knocking the bike over as he passed. Screeching to a stop, his hand's still soaked in blood he exited the car and looked backward, nothing, the man, the bike, both gone, his finger scrambled in his pocket for the blood soaked corkscrew, the stainless steel winking at him in the dark.

A scream sounded, seemingly in the distance, but not a human scream, a hellish, depraved howling which heralded the coming of something fundamentally... unnatural. The howling rose into a vicious laugh, one that delighted in reaping judgement on the worst of humanity. Footsteps sounded on the road, slow and steady, with a continuous beat, like a metronome and then, striding out of the darkness, it came. A flame burst into existence, framing a pale white skull, who's hollow eyes were fixed hard on their prey. The creature raised it arm which was swathed in biker leathers, "You." It growled deep from the throat, though truly it had none. It's finger outstretched and fixed on Jimmy with a finality which resounded throughout that barren wasteland. "Guilty."

The youth rushed forward, stabbing wildly at the leather clad chest of his pursuer, but as he finally stepped back after what seemed like an eternity of fevered attack his 'victim' was still standing. The youth looked at his weapon which had melted almost entirely, the molten steel dripped slowly down his hand, scolding it horribly, he threw the offending weapon away and stumbled backward landing on his backside. He could not understand, other people wouldn't stand such and attack, other people fell and bled and died, but perhaps this thing, this demon, was not a person at all. The creature stooped low, grabbing Jimmy by the collar and hoisting him up so they stared each other face to face. "Look into my eyes." He growled.

Suddenly Jimmy was lying down, in a soft bed, a face slid into view, it was his own, grinning sickeningly and holding a fluffed feather pillow, he raised his hands to defend himself from this apparition, but his hands were not his own, but his Grandfather's, the pillow came down, plunging him into darkness, restricting his breath, he screamed and thrashed his legs but soon, he was dead. Then again just as quick he sat across from himself at a poker table, his other self yelled something inaudible and pushed the table aside, brandishing a firearm and slugging Jimmy thrice in the chest, he fell in a pool of his own blood, which was as before, not his own.

Bewildered he saw the monster's face through the darkness which descended upon him, "You're soul is stained by the blood of the innocent. Feel their pain." Finally he stood not three feet from himself on that same fateful night, the 'other him' brandished the stainless steel weapon and thrust it at his furiously, stabbing just above his kidney, he felt chains all around him, dragging him down, down, down, finally he saw his own face, which mocked him and laughed at him and as the skin melted away he saw his true enemy, he saw the Ghost Rider.

Ghost Rider flung the now shell shocked and tortured soul he held aloft away toward the car, he slammed hard into it's back end, his spine curving agonisingly backward on itself as he lay sprawled across the roof and boot. Chains sprang toward him, wrapping around his wrists, pinning his in place, pinning him as if he were crucified upon his own car. The Ghost Rider strode past, toward his hellish motorcycle which waited for him like an obedient pet. Stopping suddenly as he passed he wheeled around, tearing the passenger door clear off and jabbing his finger toward the dying woman. "You... Innocent." A flash of fire ran from his fingertip, scorching the wound shut as the unfortunate victim descended into the depths of unconsciousness. Leaning forward he took the woman up in his arms and carried her over to his waiting cycle and then departed.

**Next Morning**

**09:15am**

Johnny Blaze, the hell spawned Spirit of Vengeance on Earth was at present leaning over a kitchen counter and waiting somewhat impatiently for his coffee pot to boil. A high pitched whistle alerted him that all was ready and also awakened the young woman lying on his couch, she stirred groggily at first and then opened her eyes. "Easy." Johnny said in his thick Texan accent, "You had yourself a rough night." The curtains were only half open and the lights were off but he could see her eyes clearly, squinting at him in the half light, "How does a little flower end up in the middle of the Desert, next to a highway no less?"

The woman sat up, propping herself against the couch's arm rest, "Uh, I-- don't... know."

"Can you at least gimmie a name to go with that face them Ma'am?" Johnny asked, his back turned on her as he poured two cups of coffee out, walking swiftly over and offering her one, "Just a little somethin' to brighten you up." He told her. She took the cup in both hands and Johnny sat sown against the wall nearby, taking a mouthful he continued.

After a long pause the woman took a small sip of her own coffee before speaking, "I'm Angie." She answered.

"Nice to meet you Angie," The Rider replied, taking another gulp of coffee, "I'm Johnny."

* * *

Act Two  
The Hellspawn

The alleyways hide many faces, the faces which humanity does not like to see, the faces we do not acknowledge, those we do not dignify by accepting their existence. One such man is not only homeless, but arguably soulless. Sometimes he feels nothing, with his crimson cloak shrouding him from the rest of the world he is often content to let the river of humans which form his home's vast populace to simply pass him by. His name was once Al Simmons, now he is known by many names, but most simply call him Spawn. These alleyways, these dead ends are all his, he doesn't appreciate visitors. Tonight was one night in which he did not concede to wallow in his own misery, if he would have done he had miseries aplenty to brood over. He clutched the edge of the roof, crouched low, his cape billowing about him like a great crimson cloud, the shroud hung over the street like the hand of death.

A boy had been taken from Rat City, by a deranged pair of men who had seen fit to uptake some 'cleansing.' What Spawn had arrived to see was a massacre, twelve of those faceless, nameless people who he felt so akin to, blown away by these decadent fanatics. Spawn was not best pleased, needless to say. But it is important to note that when Spawn got angry, people tended to vanish. He could feel them, they were close, the boy's fear shone out at him like a Sun in the abyss, beneath his cloak his chains clanked noisily together, they were hungry it seemed, hungry for blood.

He saw his prey crossing the street, breaking cover from an alley in order to slink into another, like frightened sheep, as though they knew what was hunting them. They rushed into the alley, the boy in tow, stopping just beyond the threshold to catch their breaths. "Let's just do the little punk now and get the hell out of here!" One of them suggested, taking this as his cue, Spawn leapt from the building's edge, landing in a crouch in the alley's threshold and cracking the pavement around him. Straightening up he was silhouetted in the rising sun, looking like a modern day Count Dracula, his cloak cast about him, hiding the horror beneath. Only his eyes showed, every other detail, hidden by the darkness.

One of the killers lifted a gun from his coat, letting off three shots in quick succession which didn't even cause Spawn to flinch, seeing this he decided to break and run, but as the man was fast, Spawn's chain was faster, it shot straight through the man's back, just to the side of his spine, burst through his chest, taking half of two ribs with it and wrapping around his throat. The hellish weapon picked him up and turned him around to face Spawn, only a few inches away he starred into the face of doom. "Who made you God?" Spawn demanded, in his usual eerily level tone, "Who goes up, who goes down, who decides?" He continued, the man's only answer was a bubbling sigh through the blood which was thick in his windpipe, "Not you." The Hellspawn finished, reaching forward and shoving the man's head roughly backward, breaking his neck.

The bloodstained chain receded, disappearing beneath the cloak, Spawn observed the second man cowering, his head between his knees beside an open dumpster, he was crying softly and muttering to himself repeatedly about how much he didn't want to die. The child merely starred at Spawn with the innocence of youth, probably wondering if this thing was his guardian angel. "Go home." Spawn instructed before grabbing the man by the back of the collar and dragging him off into the night.

**Later**

The closed down church which overlooked Rat City was Spawn's refuge from the world, no one ever went in and Spawn was the only one who ever walked out. Dragging his prisoner behind him, Spawn ascended another flight of stairs. "They're just freakin' bums man! Why do you care!?" The man complained from behind him, "God put 'em all here nice and pretty so we could sweep 'em off into Hell." This prompted Spawn to bring the man up to face him and growl in his face.

"You know nothing about Hell." Throwing him back to the ground Spawn continued to drag him roughly higher and higher, a coil of rope wrapped 'round Spawn's shoulder made it more than clear what his intent was. Coming to a window, Spawn removed what glass was left and leapt out with his prisoner in tow.

By this time the fanatic had realised what was about to happen and had changed his tune considerably, remaining quite silent unless spoken to, finally they came to the tower which Spawn was looking for, it looked out across most of Rat City, giving a clear view of the beehive of activity below. In one leap they were at it's summit, the man was thrust roughly against the cross which stood there and Spawn set about tying his hands in place. "P-please..." The thug stammered, "I w... I won't do it again."

Al was in the middle of securing his second hand and growled back at him for shaking his concentration, "I know you're not going to do it again." having secured him so that he hung by his wrists Spawn stepped to the tower's edge and gestured to the alleys below. "Now stay there and rot. You can look down on those you deem less worthy every day and every day you'll pray for death and every day your God wont answer."

As Spawn turned to leave the thug yelled one last jeer at him, "You're gonna burn in hell for this you freak!"

"Been to Hell, now I'm back."


	2. Part Two

The Midnight Sons

Part Two : Act One

Machinations Of A Black Heart

_Humans. How much I hate you. How much I yearn to tear open the ground beneath you and damn you forever to the pit of my present imprisonment. You have no idea what it feels like, the weight of Hell crushing down on you, unable to die, wandering through the underworld blind and deaf. My father sought to discipline me, but in my silence and solitude I hatched a plan to usurp his pitiful regime in a grand coup. I had to search the deepest bowels of Hell to find one wicked enough to serve my purposes, I found servants in The Violator and an army of Hellspawn, I found an accomplice in a fellow devil child, similarly imprisoned by a tyrannical patriarch. And a lieutenant in the form of the psychotic angel Gabriel._

_My agents are all around, they have infiltrated every city on the globe, they stalk the alleyways and rooftops at night, harvesting new souls for our ever expanding army of Hellspawn, odd it is that I never utilized them before, so apt they are in the ways of warfare that I doubt even Mephistopheles' precious Rider could halt my ascension to godhood. But just as an insurance policy, I have dispatched one who may yet end the threat of a continual thorn in my side and though I still lie in this place of imprisonment, my thoughts are as powerful as they are all reaching. There are numerous threats to my machinations and if played right, this next endeavour will wipe them all out._

Act Two_  
_Constantine; John Constantine.

John Constantine spent his entire life in the city of Angels, 'Angels?' he would often think to himself, 'Whose bright idea was that?' True enough the city possessed angelic half-breeds in abundance, drawn to the place where the boundaries separating Earth and the other worlds were weakest, but this also attracted their demonic counterparts. Most people had never heard of them, much less seen them, but the demons were easy enough to pick out, if you've ever been walking down a street and suddenly shivered then you've just walked right past one.

Now this door was all that separated him from Hell, this flimsy apartment door, no more than three inches thick, he knew what was on the other side. He hefted his trusty shotgun on one shoulder and fished a vial of Holy Water out of his pocket with the other hand. Taking one last breath he kicked the door open, the half breed was right there, waiting for him in plain view; mistake. Even as the vial left his hand he was taking aim, the glass broke, the water scolding the feeble half breed flesh from bone, leaving the demon open to attack.

Taking another breath he eased back the trigger, the demon hit the ground hard, squirming in place, clearly in agony. Walking toward him, Constantine stood over his prey, he cocked his weapon again, shoving it straight down the half breed's throat. As the creature stared up at him in disbelief he yanked the trigger back again, ending one more threat to his city. "Not in my town." He said throwing aside his gun he fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pockets, empty. "Figures."

"That it does." A voice came from over his shoulder, not pausing or checking to see who it was John rooted in the other pocket and found his last cigarette. Lighting it and taking a drag he turned and puffed a smoke ring in the newcomer's face.

"Balthazar." The demon made a polite bow, which ironically came across as the rudest of insults, taking another drag and blowing another jet of smoke in the half breed's face he carried on, "Thought I killed you this week."

The demon gave an almost camp shrug, still retaining the burn marks on one side of his face from when he'd last fought Constantine, "Well you know I do have VERY good life insurance." He pointed downward with one finger to emphasise his point, "But John, if we don't settle your debts this time Mammon's gonna kick my ass." Balthazar thrust an arm forward, slamming John against the wall, he fell limply to the floor.

Balthazar stalked across the room, sliding a hand along the wall as he approached John. He made it to the small window which gave the room most of it's light, his eye wandered outside and he froze, petrified. A shaft of golden light ran through him, killing him instantly and causing him to erupt into a cloud of ash. Constantine made a b-line for his shotgun, slinging it over his shoulder he took a glance out the window, another beam of light flashing by him. He dropped to the ground before making a break for the door. Apparently someone other than the devil was after his hide.

Act Three

The Punisher

_War Journal Entry: Supplemental_

_Before you read on it is imperative that you understand one thing. Frank Castle is dead, he died with his family, but I'm back, now it's their turn to die. I don't know how, but I'm alive, alive and for some reason I have been granted access to all the weapons in Heaven, on the condition that I do not use them for destruction I have been given almost boundless power, being dead it's not as if I can fall in combat that easy. But one things for sure, I'm no angel._

Act Four

Crossroads

Spawn perched on the side of the church, he could hear groaning still coming down from that infernal cross. Many a time now he'd though of bounding up there and impaling that foul, wretched man just for disturbing his sleep. But that would end his suffering and Spawn knew he deserved to suffer. Stupid human.

Looking down on the street below his sense were suddenly assaulted by a demonic force, he bowed his head and clutched it in his hands as if trying to block out some insufferable noise, attempting to hone in on the source of this horrible feeling his eyes focussed down on the street. The bike, that was it.

"My apartment's only around the corner." Angie said into Johnny's ear over the roar of the bike's engine. He'd agreed to give her a lift to anywhere she wanted to go, not only because he was charitable like that, but because he had nothing better to do and it was always nice to spread the fear of Ghost Rider among the scum of humanity both near and far. Johnny's hand shot to his head, massaging his temple, to anyone else it would seem that the noise of the traffic he'd been sitting in for oh, three hours was getting to him. But he himself knew that it was something entirely... different. He barely had time to push Angie out of the way when the SUV which had been hurled at them sandwiched him between in and another car. It was at that point that the street started to clear. Rapidly.

It was also at this point that the SUV blew apart, scattering twisted metal everywhere as Ghost Rider strode out of the wreckage, twisting his neck the bones cracked audibly. He rolled his shoulders and produced the same affect, he might have been immortal but damn if it didn't hurt. Before him there stood a figure shrouded by a blood red cape, looking at him with piercing eyes. "Nice threads." He commented as he wrapped his chain around his hand, forming an improvised knuckle duster. "Too bad." They both surged forward, fists already swinging and the street erupted into a scene befitting Armageddon.


End file.
